Touch
by Cherrie
Summary: Hisoka x Illumi borderline fic. Illumi's take on his and Hisoka's penchant for touching.


**Disclaimers:** Hunter X Hunter © Yoshihiro Togashi, Shounen Jump Weekly, Shueisha and Nippon Animation. This fanfic is written for entertainment purposes only. 

**Author's Notes:** Just another random whack on the head by my muse. I'm beginning to like this mythological creature. ^^ I know I said that I'm going to do a concluding chapter for Luminescence, and I _was _doing just that. I was facing a piece of paper ready to write my old ideas down when this idea popped in. But I'll get back to Luminescence. And Of Games and Assassins. You have my word ^.^

Anyway, this is Hisoka x Illumi borderline. Meaning that they can either be an item here or just friends. I'm playing with the idea that Hisoka and Illumi have a close but cold relationship. Because if anybody noticed, Hisoka is different towards Illumi. He isn't the playful Hisoka we all know and love. And Illumi...well, he's just Illumi. As if his attitude can't get any worse. XP This'll be short, I just want to write something fluffy (don't give me that look, it's possible for these two, you know!). Aah, too much consumption of LOTR, I think ^^;

**TOUCH  
**by: Cherrie ( kurapikasama@yahoo.com )

We're not friends. Not really. 

It's a cold night in the middle of July and I find myself in a room not exactly mine. I imagine that I can almost feel the chill of the glass windows as the raindrops cascade down through the transparent wall. Against the darkness of the starless city sky the windows serve so much like a mirror, and there in that mirror I see myself lying on my stomach, my arm draped outside of the bed with my hand almost touching the floor.

I open my eyes a little wider, and squint it up to one side of my reflection. And there, my eyes meet with a familiar face. There was a light touch on my neck, a warm palm with the thumb drawing feathery circles on my skin. I can feel my eyes drifting closed, taking comfort from the gentle caress made by a man I barely trust. 

We've been staying like this for as long as I can remember. It was but a few moments ago when I dragged myself to his room. I was weary, and my whole body felt like lead. His greeting went like always. Whenever I come to him uninvited, he would look up from what he was doing - though most of the time I would just catch him lying around staring at the ceiling - and he would give me but a second's glance, then look away again. 

But that's all right, and I've become used to it as time went by. It's not like I expect him to smile at me, just as much as he doesn't expect me to smile for him. Perhaps some people would find this strange, but I suppose that that is just how things between us go. We see something in each other that draws us close enough to touch, but it doesn't mean that we are friends.

"Your back hurts, doesn't it?" I hear him ask, his voice breaking the silence of the room. Pulled back from my thoughts, I open my eyes to look up at the window again, but the reflection that I see there is still the same one that I have seen a few minutes ago. "Right here, around your right shoulder," he says again, his voice low, as if he's but speaking to himself. 

I cannot see him, but I notice now that his hand has drifted from the back of my neck to my right shoulder. And it's only now that I notice that he was right. My right shoulder does feel a bit strained. I must've overused it somehow. I haven't said anything to him, but I don't think he expects me to anyway. His light touch becomes a bit pressured now, firmly kneading the cold and tense muscle underneath my shirt. At first, I just stare at the window. But after what felt like five seconds, I finally allow myself the comfort and I close my eyes. 

One of the things I've realized about him is that he likes to touch. I don't know his regard for other people, so I don't know if he touches them the same way. But whenever I am with him, he would always bid me to come close so he could touch me. I was mildly troubled by this at first, and every time I had the chance, I would watch him to see what it was all about. But nothing in his face betrayed whatever it was that he was thinking. All that I saw then was what I see from him now: a calm and straight face void of any ill regard. 

His touch is never sexual, despite what people may think if ever they lay eyes upon us during these times. Which is kind of curious, actually. Nobody would dare blame me when I say that he seems a tad bit perverted at times, because he really is. But no. Maybe I'm just too dense or too clueless about these things, but there's nothing in his touch that I find repulsive. In the end, I grew to take comfort from his little habit, that sometimes I find myself giving in to touch him just as well.

Being an assassin trained and raised away from people, I expect myself to be at least thinking twice about what I'm doing. To be fascinated with the human touch just doesn't seem very likely for a person like myself. And I will be honest. There is nothing else expected from me but to kill. 

I remember the time way back then. I spoke to my younger brother, Killua, of friends and people outside the family. It's not really a rule in our clan to kill a family member's associates, but it was something that I myself figured was an implied rule when receiving the vocation of an assassin. Many complications mar the dark path that is that of a murderer's, and by justice, it would seem that we have less rights to receive comfort for all the loss that we have cost. 

But yes, I'm a hypocrite. I have spoken against my brother about something that I now find myself guilty of, and my old beliefs are all but drowned in this night's flood just because I found my comfort from somebody I barely even know. 

I don't really think much about these things, but it's times like this - with the peaceful silence around me - that I find myself deep in these thoughts. They would always shift to the person behind me, this man always by my side like a child seeking the warmth of another. 

I don't really understand him much. We never really spoke of ourselves as most companions would. Hours can go by between the two of us without words, only touch. He is fascinated with the human touch for some reason, and in a way, he made me, too. He would lie beside me, and after a few seconds he'd take my hand and begin coiling his own around it, twining our fingers this way and that, sometimes just staring at the joined fingers as if it was the most interesting thing at the moment. 

I let him do this, partly so I can give him what he wants, and partly because I feel that it's something I want just as well. I never touch anybody, not even those from my family. It's just not our custom to run around and hug each other like some families are wont to do. Usually when I'm being touched, it is to cause me bodily harm. In a way I've grown to resent being touched by anybody, and I shy away from crowds every time I'm in one mostly because it disgusts me when a shoulder bumps into mine. 

But - when it comes to him, there's always a 'but' - it seems so different when it's from him. His is the touch that does not demand anything. To me, what he asks is but something I can give to him as much as he wants to take. Though I have admitted before that I was perturbed by this at first, by the time I was convinced that he brings no harm, it seemed so natural to let him touch me this way. 

Note that had he been somebody else, I would've shuddered so badly from the touch that I would kill him before he could even gasp. For some reason, I dislike people, most especially those that walk around cities and streets knowing not the dangers that lie in every dark alley. I dislike the people who laugh and smile. I dislike people who have so much life. My life has been taken from me long ago and it's not that I wish to have it back. I suppose that I've numbed too much to even want it anymore. My little brother, Killua, his is the youth enough to still be after that life, but it is not for me any longer. I look around and I see my siblings, and I say to myself that they're still so young. What that meant, I do not know. All I know is that they have something that I have lost. Perhaps in a way, that's a reason why I don't touch them either.

And now I would turn and I'd see him, and I see nothing of what the others have. Hypocrisy again. I find comfort in the fact that I am not alone, that I am not the only one looking at the world in piercing black and white. I suppose I'm bitter or jealous (that I rather doubt, though) of the people around me, but I look at this man and I realize that there is nothing in him to be resentful of. His is a place in this world the same as mine, and if one would bring it down pat, there really isn't much difference between the two of us when you look at things this way. 

"You have such nice hair, Illumi," he says, his voice cutting through my thoughts again. This time, I regard him by shifting my head around, laying it back down so I'm facing him. Still, he keeps a straight face, as if what he just said doesn't matter. I'm not really sure if it really does, but I regard him with half-lidded eyes nonetheless.

"You've said that to me before, but thanks anyway," I mumble. 

He looks at me for a moment, then he shifts his gaze up at the window I was staring at a while ago. "It's raining down hard, isn't it?" he asks, his eyes reflecting the tiny lights on the small water droplets, making his narrow eyes seem to shimmer. 

I find myself staring at him for a while, but eventually, I got back to my old position facing the window, looking at the same sky he's watching. I mumbled something incoherent and I bury my head on the pillow, my arm curling under it as I feel my weariness wave through me yet again. 

"Will you be doing anything for the next few days?" he asks, and his hand was on my nape yet again, doing the same circles as he's done many times before. 

I shake my head no, and with that I feel him shifting closer, moving me to lie on my side so he can hold me from behind. I open my eyes slightly at this, for as far as I'm concerned, this was far more intimate than anything else that we've done. But I am weary, and since it isn't in the least bit unpleasant, I let him do so as he wants for now. 

When I didn't do anything to push him away, he pulls me closer and I feel him settling himself with me. His breathing tells me he's tired as well, but he went on speaking. "Why don't you stay here for a while?" he asks me. 

It is a small movement, but I feel myself nodding. He says nothing anymore, and I think he has fallen asleep. 

Hisoka...I never really understood him. Sometimes I doubt it if he's even meant to be understood. I wonder if he would just prefer it that way. He's just there. A tangible support who gives to me as much as he takes. I don't know if he even realize that. I think he doesn't. I think he doesn't even care. 

But that's all right. We're not friends, after all. Not really.

I kind of like it that way. 

**~* The End *~**

**Things to take note of:  
**[1] Unless Hisoka feels the same way as Illumi does in this fic, it would seem that our dear assassin is really clueless. But do understand that Illumi does not associate with people, and he's stubborn to the point of being in denial, so you can't really blame him. Then again, like I said, it's kind of relative, because their relationship _can_ be like this after all. *pokes cheek in thought*  
[2] No, this fanfic is not yaoi. I don't know, I guess I have a feeling that people would argue about it. It _is_ kind of debatable, isn't it? ^^;   
[3] Too fluffy to be Hisoka x Illumi? But hey, I want a touchy-feely-fluffy Hisoka x Illumi, they're too cold! 0 As we say in Filipino, _Wala namang pakialamanan... _^.~ I don't really know how to translate that. Something like 'mind your own business', but that sounds so awful, so I don't want to use that! ^^;


End file.
